Always A Michael Jackson Love Story
by DaizyfreeMJ
Summary: What happens when saying 'hello' to a stranger turns into something way more? Amal Goodwin is a normal young woman who's just friendly. If you see a person almost every other day, why not say hello? When that person want to do more than say 'hello'...
1. Chapter 1

Absolutely love that smokey smell of a coffee shop. Made me feel high, don't know why. I've always loved the smell ever since I was a teen when they had the little holes on the front of the bag. You squeeze it to sense the freshness of the coffee. Yes, I was a bit strange as a child.

"Hey, how are you." I say to the light skinned doe-eyed man, as I do every Tuesday and Thursday. Curly dark brown hair, and slim and tall.

"I'm great, and you?" He says back.  
"I'm doin' good." I reply. Then I pass his booth to go choose my own. I slide in the brown cushioned seats as they squeaked violently. I sat my purse next to the napkin and extras on the table as the waitress came and took my order. Coffee and a double chocolate chip cookie is what I always order, and she was back in a minute with that. As I added, my cream and sugar packets I noticed how annoyingly the sun was baking my sweater, making me itch. Think the weather man lied to me. He said it was cool and windy? Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, I hope we won't have to have a talk about this forecast shit.  
I ripped off my sweater and tightly folded it and put it in my rather large purse. _I guess I can read a book to pass time. _But I never pay attention to it. I pull out the book, "To Kill a Mockingbird". Everyone said it was an extremely good book, but I can't seem to pay attention to it. My mind is always somewhere else. I never get bored, I think too much. My mind won't allow me.

I look out to my left out the wide span of a window looking on to the street of State and Ohio. Look up; I see the Green Line train station. That's when it dawned on me; ever hear a person say you have really pretty eyes? (Less likely.) When you have the sun hitting your eyes from a comfortable position, from the side you can really see the definition of an eye. The color, the molding of the cornea. Everything. That's why I adore the man sitting two rows back of me. His eyes are gorgeous, honestly. Speaking of him, how much you wanna bet he's staring at me? I boldly turn around to see him cut his head down to his sketch pad.

_HA. _I turn back around with a satisfied chuckle. I look down to my coffee and finished it, broke my cookie in half and looked at it carefully. Then brought my cookie up to my nose, and smelled it. (NO, not like the coffee.) I mean, you can never be too safe with food complete strangers are preparing for you. Just saw the news last month about a boy that died from taking a mini snickers from an old man. Internal bleeding in the throat. Sick, and horrifyingly tragic.

Wh—why is she smelling her cookie? Not every day you see such a feminine woman sniffing food, but still, a turn on.

Every day I come here we say hello to each other. Seeing each other every day, so we might as well be friendly to one another. But when I first saw her, it was like she punched me in the face. She spoke and that was a kick in the stomach. She had a soothing raspy-ness in her voice, and it shows obvious vocal training. Maybe she was a singer? I don't know but I she stuns me. _God I must sound like some insolent buffoon bowing at the queen's feet. I do, but hey. _Anything for the chocolate queen. Mahogany skin, almond brown eyes and I can't tell whether its eyeliner or her eyelashes are just naturally thick that way? It makes the brown of her eyes stand out. I like her hair, too. It's extremely wavy, which makes it look like curls that were put there on purpose.

I sit here, drooling every time I come to the café. The elderly men look at me as if they've been there, with their wives. And I respect that. Looking back on fresh lovers. When they first laid eyes on their little _Lucy, back in 65'. _I respect that. But it's about time I find my little Lucy. Although her name is Amal. No, we've never had a real conversation over this past month, but her name tag. She works at the retirement home on Clark and Division. Nurse Amal Goodwin, Claris Elm's Retirement home. Saw it so many times, I said to hell with it and read it. So many time I've wanted to go talk to Amal, but…

You know what? _Fuck it. _I'm talking to her today. (Although I said that last week.) Enough bitching around, just talk to her. Stay cool.

I pick up my things my sketch pad, jacket (Although I don't need it, damn you Jerry.) and my coffee then headed her way. _Hey, Amal right? Yeah, wondering why we haven't said more than thirty words to each other. _Perfect, but how will she react? 'How the fuck do you know my name?' Most likely. 'Yeah, why wanna chat?' Less likely.

I'm a good six feet away from her before I choke up, and she looks up to me, me visibly seeing the structure of her face.

_Beauty._

I gave a breathy smile, and kept striding toward the door.

_**Maybe next time, my feminine Goddess.**_


	2. Chapter 2

I sped walked out the bakery, embarrassed out of my wits. Not knowing what to do for the rest of my break, I just made my way back to the museum. Might as well get some more artifacts registered. I saw my beautiful museum standing about a city block before me. The two lions welcomed my way in every time. I walked past the students from the University sitting on the large staircase that led to the elegant framing the entrance of the Art Institute of Chicago. I walked up the maze of stairs up to my floor. I approached the gateway that led to the locked artifacts that were on my list to search about. I picked up my ID and held it up to the security camera for Lenny to see, and buzz the bell, notifying Lenny. The museum needs confirmation to find out who works in the museum or not. There are some _**very**_ important artifacts in the museum's storage. It fascinates me. I get to touch, examine and admire the most beautiful and important pieces of history in the world, first and up close.

"ID." Lenny's raspy voice cracks through the intercom. I wait for him to see my card. "Aye! Mike! Come on, man."

"Thanks, Lenny." I reply.

"Aight, man." The gate door buzzed violently, I felt the vibrations from 8 feet. I hate that, and always have.

I pushed the door open leading me to the cinderblock room, the walls painted a light shade of gray. It was always a strong smell from the wood that boxes the crates. It's like it's penetrating the back of my throat, almost choking me. I guess that's one of the disadvantages of working as a stock inventory manager. Everything else is really fine; it's just this smell that gives me heartburn.

I grabbed my clipboard off the assignment wall and got to work. Searched for the crowbar to crack open the crates from Puerto Rico, and they were kind of water damaged from the ship they were sent on. Thank goodness they were plastic wrapped, so the artifacts were safe.

And then again, she hit me like a cinder block in my stomach. Not that little pang that I normally get when she's on my mind, this time it hit so hard in almost made me sick.

_**She saw me… JESUS, I CHOKED BECAUSE SHE SAW ME.**_

I closed my eyes and tightened up as I reminisced on the horrible 3 seconds. _**Michael, you are a disgrace to men everywhere.**_ I completely bitched out; all I had to do was talk to her a little bit. I'm sure she wouldn't mind too much if I had asked her on a little date; it could've been at the bakery, RIGHT THERE. You never think these things through. NEVER. That's how you tripped out the last time, **UGH HOW DUMB CAN YOU BE. That was one of my worst moments of my life, she could've been in my hands right now. I would've had a date with her to the Seven Heaven Cajun restaurant by now. But lil' Mikey had to **be a little punk.

But that's it, no more punking around. _Just go talk to her, Mike!_

Oh wow! HAH! That was good, that was _**amazing!**_This is like the second time he's done this. Trying to really talk to me, oh that was really sweet. He's so shy; I don't know why he is? Why is it so hard for him to just talk to me? I hope he doesn't find me intimidating, why would he need to?

I feel bad for him. That look of horrifying embarrassment _showed._ A soft chuckle, and dusted out the door. Too bad, I kinda like him. He is good-looking, and for a woman to approach a man calls "_desperate_". I really wish he'd come say hello too, it's about time my life gets occupied. Start to date a little, and why not? We're ordinary people. But, I'm afraid that might be his choice. If he wants to talk more, come on. But if not,

**His loss.**

The next day, I came back to the bakery again with that cookie on my mind. I called in, told my father that I was tired from wearing my ass out yesterday. The elevators were out, so I had to run to the pharmacy to pick up his meds for his swollen leg, _and_run up the stairs to the 14th floor. Made me mop his house, walk his dog (Who is big as me.) He basically dragged me down the street every time he saw a fucking pigeon. Help him in and out the bath tub, (The man, not the dog.) because of his immobility. So that's a bitch. And, I got my package today from the post office, and the bus route to the south side of Chicago was down. So I carried the 20 pound box 3 city blocks until I found a cab.

**AINT THAT A BITCH.**

And my client for Thursday's and Friday's is my father. I work as a nurse at the Claris Elm retirement home for my fellow pioneers. I love the elderly, but 's ass is not so fond of me, but I'll get to him later. (Don't really wanna think about him right now.) They've been through some shit you will never get to see, honestly. I loved to be around them just to hear their stories. I know how far they've lived back, so I really would like to listen to the history they've lived. Like when I had first turned to work here, this one woman, her name was Miss Daisy. She was one of the very few survivors of the Titanic. She was only 17 when she told us about the day it went down, and the man she fell in love with when she met him on the ship. I was choked in tear in the end, because the story was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. The way they met, the way he saved her, the way she saved him. The way he died…This is why I respect and thank the ones who are willing to share their most historical moments with a group of workers, no matter how horrific they are.

My father was able to convince the people in the office to give me him as my client to take care of. That's the best thing about my job, most of its easy. I just ask my father what he needs done, do it, and then kick my feet up after that and chill. Sleep, most of the time. Because hey, EASY MONEY. Not that I don't do work. I **do** genuinely do my work, finish it. You know, arranging his medication if he needs it, and take him to the doctor's for appointments, as I do for the rest of my people. I have 3 clients until I'm assigned a new one, or if one of them of course, dies. I hate that so much, because of course you draw a love for that person, whether or not their_ ._

Anyways, I'm at the café. And all of a sudden I hear a soft voice call my name.

"Anal? Right?" I look up. Well, _**what has Charlie Brown brought to town today?**_

_Long, sleek, suave, clean, fresh, and __**LIGHT-SKINNED! HELL YEA!**_

"Yes?" I say trying to keep in my excitement.

"Um—Hi- Hi. My name is Michael." He held out his hand. Couldn't help but notice the beautifully carved hands, that we're so large. Make me want him to grab and shake me.

"Hey, about time I finally figure out your name." I laugh.

"Yeah, yeah, I was thinking the same thing. M-may I?" He said gesturing to booth opposite of me.

"Yeah, go ahead." PLEASE? He slid into the tight space between the chair and the table, sending me a small smile. I wonder what he is going to saaaaaay next?

"So, I know this is kind of out of the ordinary but—"

"No its not."

"Hmm?" He seems confused.

"It's not out of the ordinary. A person just_** talking**_ to another person." I emphasized on the '_just talking'._

"Oh… Well, yeah. I guess that's the point. I've just figured, we see each other almost every day we're here so why not make more of a conversation." Very good, so far he's smooth with is, but it's obvious he's nervous. Am I that intimidating to men? I hope so.

"Ohhh, so it's that kind of conversation." I tested him. He laughed a breathy chuckle.

"What do you mean '_that kind of conversation'?" _ He asked back.

"Well, the one where the man realizes it's alright to speak to the girl, he comes over no knowing what to really say, but they end up finding a topic (Usually about the girl…) to talk about and we end up getting to know each other, kind of conversation." I rested my chin on my folded fingers, looking him at him eye to eye. I watched intently as a smile stretched across his face. I knew he wouldn't know what to say after that, so I went to a different topic.

In heavy astonishment I smiled at her. She really did get more and more intriguing the more and more I knew about her.

"How did you know my name?" She says with a calm face, like she wasn't surprised.

"You're name tag." She looked down to the left side of her chest; on top of her breast through her white polo is where he sticker name tag usually is. I guess she didn't go to work today, because today she doesn't have it on.

"Oh, hah… I wear is so much; I forget that it's there for the world to know all of my business. People like you might read it and know all my business. Try to talk to me."

I opened up with laughter. Good sense of humor, too?

"Well good thing I did, I think before I told you I read your tag, you we're impressed."

She looked at me with a shocked face, which eventually spread into a smile. Bingo.

We burst into a symphony of hilarity. Her voice was even more beautiful now. Then after the laughter subsided, she just stopped and looked at me, not saying a word.

"What?" I said, a bit worried that our moment had faded.

"I was waiting on you."

"Waiting on me for what?" I questioned. Now I was confused, and just great I probably look very stupid right now.

"I'm pretty sure you want to ask me for my number." She said boldly, might I add. Then she looked down and flicked something imaginary off the table, as if it we're bothering her. She did it only to torment me.

"Wh-, what?"

"Oh don't you start to play dumb. You wouldn't have come over here if you didn't want to ask me for my number, or on a date. But a date might be too soo, so you're only resort is my number." She states, now putting her book away. I noticed what the book was, 'To Kill a Mocking Bird' which was my absolute favorite book. She was only on page 7.

I smiled down, and leaned in closer across the table, just a bit.

"May I.. Have your number, Miss Anal Goodwin?" I say a bit low, watching her eyes. She looked down at my hands which we're in front of me. She looked back up and said;

"No." With a cold face.

Wh-….. WHAT?

"Huh?" My face twisted in confusion.

"No." She repeated, saying it reassuringly raising her eyebrows. She collected her bag and fixed her sweater and all ready to go.

"No?" I asked, a bit shocked but not pushing it.

"Yes, no." She said. I could have died right there as she gathered her things and got up. She then surprised me when she leaned over and said, "But you can give me yours."


	3. Chapter 3

Ahhh, I felt fresh! I felt like a new man! She almost got me there with the "but you can give me yours." HA, she's good. She's a little too good, because she almost got me there… But now, I'm calling her tonight to talk a little. (Hopefully allot, if she really likes me.) Then I'll ask her out to dinner… Well, maybe not now, maybe our next conversation.

Oh my goodness, I'm so EXTATIC! I CAME UP TO HER LIKE… LIKE… a man. FOR ONCE I PULLED SOME MOVES ON A WOMAN. Jesus, I'd never think I could pull it off. What made me do it? I just walked up before I could think, because only when I thought about it, I started to panic. That way I'd have no way out once I got her attention. But I kept breathing to keep my cool. I sounded so… deep? My voice got really deep when I talked to her, trying to get her number. I know I sound stupid, but I felt like a Mack Daddy back there.

And it felt good…

I lay there after I just got back in from a jog, at about 8pm. I love late night jogs, I go down to the lake, and jog back home, down to Hyde Park.

I'm lying in bed in my tee and shorts, just got out of the shower. I fit my bonnet on my head, so my hair won't get mussed as I sleep. But then I for got, I gotta make a call. Hmm, should I call him today, or make him suffer? Damn, I really want to talk to him, but its hilarious watching him dance… Naah, I'll call him. Just to quench my own needs.

I dialed his number, and waited patiently. But it wasn't long at all before I got picked up.

"Hel-." He cleared his throat. "Hello?"

"Hey, its Amal." I say, trying to sound like a perfect seductress. HA.  
"Heeeeeyy…" He drawled. What is he trying to do? Aah, this is going to be good. "Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing, talking to you."  
"Besides that."

"Laying in bed." I herd him pause a little, and his breathing go shallow, because of my sensitive receiver.

Oh my God, so my fantasy begins. I imagined her in a small night dress, black. Hair fanned out around her, long legs toned and a deep rich chocolate brown. I imagine her being flexible too, so her legs bend way over her head, just for me. (Don't worry, she has panties on.) One of those snap-crotch lingerie pieces. And then she sprea-

"Umm, you there?" I hear her call.

"Oh, ye—yeah..." I say, catching myself from a hard on. I look down to my cotton pajama pants as the round bulge started to grow. Too late...

"Okay, you good?" HA, I will be.

"Yeah... I'm good."

"Oh, you started to sound funny, I don't know."

….

"Well, anyways. Umm, what's your name again?"  
She was kidding. Right?

"Ha, real funny." I told her.

"Oh, Marcus. Okay…" She kept playing.

"You're cruel."

"I'm kidding, Michael…" Mmmhmmm. "So what you up to?" She asked.

"Nothing. I'm laying down on my couch, I was reading."

"Oh, what we're you reading ?"

"Sherlock Holmes. 'A Study in Scarlet', and it's truly amazing." I said reminiscing on the ingenious planning of the story plot, where Sherlock and Watson just meeting. I can't put it down.

"You like Sherlock Holmes? I love that! Its my absolute favorite!"

"You're kidding me?" So she loved good literature too?

"Yes, its amazing the way it made me think and changed my mind around with the most simplest items of logic. It made me go insane and think about EVERYTHING that made sense in the world, that Sherlock could see something like that. Its was amazing, I loved it." Wow.

"Have you read any of the others?"

"I'm on 'The Five Orange Pips. I respect everything about Air Arthur Conan Doyle. He's a real genius."  
"Yeah, but I can't wait to get further in the series. It's like I live at the library, and thank God they have all of them."

"I own all of them, they take up my top and bottom shelf." She laughed. "Although, I will admit I'm not much of a reader. I try to read books that draw my attention."

"I love to read, augh. It's my escapism. That an my art."  
"Define _your art._" She told me.  
"I draw, sculpt and paint." I said, sheepishly. I don't think she'll believe me. But wait till she gets a whiff of my art plastered about my home. I'm my own Picasso.

"You do?"  
"Yes." I said. "Have been ever since I was 17. I had to quickly change my major in order to do my studies for Art."  
"Wow…. Tell me more?"

*An hour later.*

"You've seen the Mona Lisa in flesh?" She sounded floored.

"Yes, and it's truly beautiful. I have to be honest, I really didn't see the meaning of the Mona Lisa at first. Considering the boring image, but it's like once you see it in real life, it's _exciting._ Then all of a sudden, you see the real meaning of the portrait. You capture the emotion and everything, it really is something amazing." I was telling her about my years I took the time to live out in France for my studies. I was 24 when I came back.  
"Is _pauee _as full of love as they say it is?"  
"Almost every day I either saw a proposal, a wedding, or honeymooners in the streets of Paris. It's really heart fluttering to see." She hummed in indulgence of my tales in the city of love. "I have drawings of people I sketched while I sat at café's and restraints."  
"I most definitely want to see them the next time we meet." YES. There _is going to be a next time._

"I most definitely will show you." And then I heard her shuffle on her line.

"Can you say something to me in French, Michael?" She voice made me get a pang in my lower stomach. I loved that feeling she gave me.  
"Vous etes la plus belle." I told her. My stomach jolted the whole sentence, just waiting on the moment where I had to tell her what it meant.  
"Wow. I can already tell, that sounds beautiful. What does it mean?" I bite my lip before I speak.  
"You are the most beautiful." Her line went silent. I got worried. "Amal?"

"Ye—yes?" She finally answered.  
"Oh, I got a little worried… I'm sorry… I know, tha—that was a little inappropriate." I felt foolish.

"Oh no, don't be! It's amazingly sweet, thank you. What else can you say?"

"Je tiens absolument à vous voir à nouveau."  
"And that means?"  
"I definitely want to see you again." She hummed. I felt a little sheepish about me speaking the language to her, felt a little too sensual, too quickly.

"Je suis impatient de lui." (I look forward to it.) she said.

"Do you? So you know a bit yourself?"

"I took it in high school. I know just a little." She continues to surprise me.

*Two hours later…*

"So what _does _your name mean? It's very beautiful."  
"It's Arabic for hopes and aspirations." Hope…  
"Your mother was a very wise woman for naming you that."  
"My father named me. My mother wasn't even awake when she gave birth to me." She said grimly. Her tone of voice suddenly changed, and I missed the sweet honey voice, just as fast as I loved it.  
"Oh… I'm so sorry. Did she pass while she was…?"  
"No, she was on drugs. Wasn't even conscious to see me. I had to be cut out before I was lost." My heart wrenched, and sopped for her. I never knew the feeling of not knowing my mother, _or _father.

"So, every time she'd be released from either jail or rehabilitation, she'd go back to where she was. I've only seen her nineteen times out of my entire life."  
"When was the last time you saw her?"

"1982." She said flatly. I felt so bad for her, because from what I hear, she doesn't like what her mother has done to Amal, or herself. But my situation with my father wasn't much different.  
"I'm so sorry, Amal. I pray that everything works out between you two." She was silent, once again. "So why is your name Arabic?" I change the subject.  
"My father is a Muslim. So therefore, I'm a Muslim."  
"_**You're kidding me?"**_ WHAAAAAT?

"Yeah…" I felt her smile through the phone. The I heard her scoff. "You're not prejudice are you?" She asked.  
"No! No, no, no, never. I would _never, ever _dislike you because of your religion. Plus that would be a bit of hypocritical."

"Are you Muslim, _too?" _She really was shocked then.  
"Oh, no, no. I'm a Jehovah's Witness." Then _I _got worried as to what she was going to say.  
"Why do you say it hypocritical?"  
"Because I kinda feel like our religions are allot similar. Our beliefs are a bit the same."  
"One God." We say at the same time. Together we chimed in a holy chuckle, on how our minds think so much alike.

"Yes, that's right. I try to keep up with my religion as much as I can, I do. I thank God for the most beautiful things in life every day. Remind myself who made every blessing possible." I almost choked up at her. So, she was sexy, intelligent, religious, attractive, smart, God-Loving, fine and sexy?

God?

Thank you.

We went on for about another half hour, talking about our lives, religion, jobs and teasing each other some more. And it was incredible. She was incredible. There we're times where she would tease me about me wanting to date her, how much I wanted her. Just from my dirty thoughts and her talking was not helping _Junior_. As she was talking about her job, I drifted away from the conversation. I put my hand over my crotch and had to suffer. I imagined my hand was her hand, doing me a favor.

_**God, forgive me.**_

The sound of her voice… Made it worse. I squeezed harder.

"And I work for my father on Thursday's and Fridays. Which is so easy, thank Allah because I'm blessed. The messed up part is that I don't even do much, half the time. I get what he needs done, moping, washing clothes, organizing his doctor appointments and medicine. I'll call him—"

"Mmhmmm…" I moan. I really didn't realize I had did that. I kept working myself through my boxers. By this time, I was upstairs in my room. I had taken my pants off for bed, but that wasn't making my situation _any better._ My breathing got shallow. I was now at full force hardness, and it wasn't pretty. Just, in the nick of time, as I reach my hand in my boxers I was snapped out of my play time.

"Michael? What are you doing?"

_**Oooooohhhhh, SHEEEEIT.**_

_***********_

Michael's breathing got really heavy?

"N-nothing. It just got—really hot in my room, that's all. I think the furnace is on."  
"In the middle of May?"  
"You know Jerry always messes up the forecast." HA! SO I WASN'T THE ONLY ONE! I burst into laughter, he chuckles along. A deep, sexy chuckle… Ooohh….

I look to the clock and it read 11:57  
"It's almost midnight." I say quietly.

"It is? Wow, that means, we've been talking for what? 3 hours?"

"Just about." I say. "Well, it's about time I… hit them sheets…" I huffed with a breathy laugh.  
"Oh?" Michael said disappointed. Sorry hun, but I'm tired, and my eyes are starting to cross.

"Yeah, when my eye's start to cross, I _know _I need to get to sleep." He giggled, his suspicious breathing subsided.

"Well, aright I'll let you go. But Amal?"  
"Yes?"  
"Am I worthy of a date yet?" I bite my lip, thinking.  
"I guess you aight?" I picked. He laughed slow and low again. That laugh that made me go half crazy.  
"You available tomorrow?"  
"Yes, yes I am."  
"At seven, I want to pick you up and take you to dinner. You ever have been to "Seven Heaven"?" He asked.  
"The Cajun restraunt in Homes Theater?" She asked.  
"Yeah, yeah. You've been?"

"Plenty of times with my father, I love that place. One of my favorites."  
"Great, at seven I'll pick you up, if that's okay?" Hmmm? Pick me up? He'll know where I live…

"How abut I meet you there?" I suggested. I wasn't ready for him to know where I lived just yet…


End file.
